


the sky'd be falling (and i'd hold you tight)

by steelivoryporcelain



Series: Jonsa Season 8 Song-fics [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fix-It for 8x02, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Idiots in Love, One Shot, Songfic of sorts, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, jonsa, these two just can't communicate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22074880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelivoryporcelain/pseuds/steelivoryporcelain
Summary: The world might be ending and Jon can't sleep.--“And what’s it that you’d really like?” Jon tries to catch Sansa's gaze, but she keeps it squarely on the fire in the hearth.--Inspired by JP Saxe and Julia Michaels'If The World Was Ending.
Relationships: Jon Snow & Sansa Stark, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: Jonsa Season 8 Song-fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1998256
Comments: 18
Kudos: 90





	the sky'd be falling (and i'd hold you tight)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mellypea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellypea/gifts).



> This is my first time writing fan fiction in this fandom and in nearly a decade in general, so constructive criticism on here or on [Tumblr](https://steelivoryporcelain.tumblr.com/) is welcomed and appreciated!
> 
> Heads up - I know that Tormund said the dead would arrive by sunrise the next day, but I needed to adjust the timeline a bit for this to work.

_~ But if the world was ending, you'd come over, right? ~_

It’s been several hours since Tormund and what remains of the Night’s Watch arrived with the warning that the dead would arrive by sunrise in two days. Required preparations keep Jon and Sansa apart for the day. Afterwards, Sansa spends the better part of her evening eating with their people. Jon spends it -- making what peace he can. 

After hours of turning over in his bed, sleep still evades Jon and he leaves his chambers to wander the halls. 

He is unaware of where his feet carry him until he finds himself at Sansa’s door. Before Jon can decide whether it is best to knock or walk away, he is startled from his thoughts by the creaking of the door on its hinges as Sansa opens it. She is in her shift. Hair still braided and resting over her shoulder. The last time he saw her in such a state -- 

“Are they here already?” She asks after regaining her composure, having been flustered by his unexpected appearance at her door.

“No, I just -- I can’t sleep.” This isn’t a new problem, but it hasn’t bothered him as much as it does tonight. Any other night he’d exhaust himself hacking away at the practice dummy by the stables.

Sansa nods and steps away from the door, leaving him enough room to enter her chambers. He tries not to remember the last time he was here.

There are still two chairs by the fire and takes the one closest to the door -- a small stack of books by the other chair leg denotes Sansa’s preferred seat. 

Sansa pours him a glass of something. He sniffs it. Wine. “I thought you hated this stuff?” 

Sansa moves to take the seat beside his. She’s shared bits and pieces with him of her time in Kings Landing. She’s told him of Cersei’s over indulgence in wine -- her former husband’s -- and how the taste of it now leaves her stomach churning.

“I do, but we might die tomorrow and I cannot have what I would really like. So I must settle for this,” she says and takes a sip. Resignation shouldn’t suit her this well.

“And what’s it that you’d really like?” Jon tries to catch her gaze, but she keeps it squarely on the fire in the hearth.

Sansa doesn’t respond -- sets about unraveling her braid and brushing out her hair. Just as delicate as she had been with Lady’s coat. 

This had been part of their nightly ritual, after retaking Winterfell. They’d sit by the fire in her solar. Sansa brushing out her hair as they recounted the events of the day, what would need to be done tomorrow, the next day, to restore the keep.

And it’s that image of Sansa -- telling him the best ways to placate the lords, how as much as she wants to rebuild the glass gardens there are more important things to attend to -- that he just can’t shake. This image that used to be a comfort now torments his nights and his days.

Sansa still hasn’t responded to his question. “You don’t happen to have any armies prepared to make a surprise entrance, do you?” He jokes.

“Unfortunately no. Your queen’s forces will have to do.” The pain Jon’s had in the pit of his stomach only increases with her words.

“I thought you would be with her tonight.”

Jon hesitates before answering, “I was.” Sansa clenches her cup with both hands.

“You should know --” Jon continues, rubbing his brow. 

“No. I should not -- if this is our last night. If it is important now, it will still be important if we live.” And the pain grows again, a vice clenching something deep inside him.

Jon doesn’t break the silence that follows, afraid she’ll dismiss him if he speaks another word. The silence lasts so long that it envelopes them -- the dead aren’t at their door, there is no Dragon Queen, the world isn’t ending -- there is just Jon, just Sansa, and the silence between them.

“That night --” Sansa begins, but pauses. 

Jon doesn’t need her to specify. _That_ night. Before he left for Dragonstone.

Memories, unbidden -- the feel of her lips on his, her little sighs as she unfolded beneath him -- consume him again. Is she plagued by images of that night like he is?

She turns to him now. “I, I need you to know,” Sansa stumbles over the words. Pauses again.

“If it’s important now, it’ll still be important if we live,” Jon reminds her with a soft smile. 

Sansa stands without a word and moves towards him. She removes the cup from his hand and places it on the table nearby. She curls herself into his lap and brings his arms around her.

This is how it began the last time -- _that_ night -- but everything has changed. He knows she won’t kiss him this time. Won’t lead him to her bed, whispering in his ear everything she wants.

If they survive the next night, they’ll say everything that’s been left unsaid. But tonight, he will hold her. That will be enough.

_~ But if the world was ending, you'd come over, right? ~_


End file.
